


When the Dreamer Wakes

by Talyesin



Series: Aftermath on Finite Earths [8]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 04:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15428796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talyesin/pseuds/Talyesin





	When the Dreamer Wakes

Earth-Two  
Keystone City

Two old men were sitting on a park bench, one considerably older than the other. The elder wore an old suit and fedora, despite the late summer heat, round rimless spectacles on his wrinkled face, clutching a cane with his right hand. The other, clad in a brown sport coat and slacks, top button of his shirt undone, brown hair white at the temples, was athletically trim, and seemed distracted.

"All I'm saying is, I don't like it."

"I know, Wes. You keep saying that."

Wesley Dodds looked at Jay Garrick, one of his oldest surviving friends. They'd been through life and death together. They'd been to Hell and back, quite literally. They'd lost friends and loved ones. At yet, at that precise moment, Wes wanted nothing more than to throttle his old friend.

"Yet no one is listening, Jay," Wes said, gripping the head of his cane, thick arthritic knuckles going white with the effort.

Jay was blurry again, and Wes knew it wasn't the result of his aging eyes or a deficiency in his eyeglasses. Jay was running off, faster than the eye could see, doing something heroic, rescuing someone, averting some disaster, foiling some crime, between breaths, between words.

"Jay, I need your attention for five seconds!" Wes yelled at him, frustration plain on his face, swinging his cane in front of his old friend's chest for emphasis.

Seeing the worry and anger on his friend and teammate's face caught Jay's attention, and the blurring effect stopped.

"I'm sorry, Wes," Jay said. "You're right. It's just... there's so much to do. And lately... I feel like we're running out of time to do it all. The kids are doing a great job, don't get me wrong, but..."

"I know," Wes said, lowering his cane. "They have other concerns. I remember when it was all bank heists and diamond exchange robberies, with maybe a spy ring for a little spice. The kids... they're constantly kept busy with all manner of superheroics. Fighting supervillains, not muggers. Thinking with their fists, not with their brains... or their hearts. Which is why I need to talk to you."

"All right, old friend. You've got my undivided attention."

Wes suddenly found himself nervous to voice the reason for his concerns. He licked his lips, looking away from Jay.

"The dreams," he said quietly. "They've started again."

"Wes... you haven't had the dreams in years. Decades, even."

"The dreams stopped when I donned the mask and cape. Fighting crime and injustice kept them at bay. When I retired from adventuring last year, I thought that my service had earned me a peaceful life. Crime, after all, had dropped dramatically, and injustice, while ever-present, is at least somewhat in decline."

"But they came back?"

"Not at first. But they came back. Dark dreams. Terrible nightmares. Death and destruction." The aged former crimefighter pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses, closing his eyes against the horrors that stalked him nightly. "There's something I never told you, never told anyone in the Society. I did have the dreams once before... just before the Crisis."

"Wes, what are you saying?"

"I'm simply saying that my dreams, my nightmares tend to come during periods of great... evil. In the thirties, I mean, remember it. Really remember, not through the false lens of nostalgia. I was a rich man then, you were a student at university - we were well off, considering. But it was a dark time. Fascism on the rise at home and abroad, the Great Depression, starvation and disease and poverty like nothing we'd ever known, racism and sexism were rampant... and another war was looming on the horizon, for those with the eyes to see."

"I remember," Jay answered quietly. "People call it the Golden Age of heroism, but simply existing day to day required acts of individual heroism the likes of which I hope the world never has to experience again."

"And then the Crisis. Untold trillions dead. Universes lost to the Anti-Monitor. Again, acts of incredible heroism. But a dark, terrible time."

"So you're saying something like that could be happening again?"

"I'm saying, if it is happening, then there's no one to see it."

"Come on, Wes," Jay laughed. "The kids know what they're doing!"

"They can stop volcanoes from destroying villages and they can fly to outer space to stop alien invasions and they can slug it out with all the supervillains they want, but I'm telling you, Jay - there's not a thinker among them. Not like in our day, when mystery men like Bruce and Lee and Terry could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the greats like Clark or Diana or Alan."

"Mystery men like you?"

Wes paused, uncomfortable. "Yes, there's that. Kids today think of superheroes as someone who can fly or lift a bus or shoot lasers out their eyes. But where are the detectives? The Crisis ended the Wayne family line, ended the Dark Knight's legacy. No one's left to look around and piece together the clues and solve the problems with cunning instead of brute strength. And mark my words, there's something brewing. Some evil afoot."

Jay sat there, thinking about his friend's dire prediction. It was the longest he'd sat still since Joan's death, three years previous, and he was suddenly aware of how old and tired he felt. Maybe that was why he kept at it, he realized. Maybe he simply didn't trust the kids to do his job when he was gone.

"What should we do?" Jay found himself asking.

A look of grim determination passed over Wes' wrinkled face. "We need to find out what our old foes are up to, where they've gotten themselves. The one good thing about these kids today is that their foes can't hatch a plot worth a damn."


End file.
